The pitch-black doorway yawned wide open, like a giant, man-eating maw greedily anticipating its meal—welcoming Caesar and his group into its depths.
"The dream intrusion failed. Get ready—we're going in," Edward instructed as soon as he saw it. "Be careful of a Rose Bishop at Sequence 6; their flesh can turn into bombs. And watch out for the True Creator's mental pollution. Don't look at what shouldn't be seen, and don't listen to what shouldn't be heard!"
His gaze lingered especially on Caesar. Theoretically, Caesar was the most susceptible to influence.
No worries. I actually have a cheat code.
Of course, Caesar didn't say that out loud. He only nodded, showing he understood. Then he followed Edward and the others, stepping cautiously into the building that reeked of blood.
Inside, however, the stench of blood was weaker than expected. Instead, it was replaced by a strange, almost alluring fragrance. The light wasn't as dim as it had seemed from the outside; everything was bathed in a deep red glow. Under that eerie light, the furnishings of the house were barely visible.
They stood in a large hall, with staircases winding up both sides to the upper floors. The back half of the building was blocked by a door—slightly ajar—radiating a red gleam from within. It was the only source of light in the room.
A woman sat quietly in front of that door. She wore a white robe that accentuated her graceful figure. Because she was backlit, the light from behind framed her silhouette in crimson.
And her face—was breathtaking.
Even though they stood on opposite sides, Caesar had to admit she was among the most beautiful women he had ever seen—perhaps only comparable to his sister, Cecilia. Her blood-red hair draped loosely over her shoulders, her features were soft and delicate, her lips thin, always carrying a faint, gentle smile. Yet her golden eyes glimmered with a cold light, like twin orbs of polished metal—beautiful, but utterly devoid of warmth.
Contradiction. That was Caesar's first impression of her. Sweet honey laced with poison. The purity of an innocent girl mixed with the oppressive aura of a superior being.
"Welcome."
She smiled as she spoke, her tone soft and calm. Reclining gracefully in her chair, she made no move to attack, as though she truly were the mistress of this place, greeting her guests.
Then, all at once, Caesar sensed the people beside him stiffen—then burst into sudden fury, as if they had seen something intolerable. Following their gaze, Caesar looked at the chair the woman was sitting in.
What's wrong with the chair? It's just a lighter color... looks like leather... wait—holy crap!
He stepped closer, and his pupils constricted. On the armrest of the chair, what he had first taken for carved patterns revealed itself, under closer scrutiny, to be a human face.
And he recognized that face—it belonged to one of the investigation team members Edward had sent out earlier!
The face wasn't embedded—it was fused with the chair, naturally, grotesquely so. Which meant... the chair itself was—
Caesar's stomach turned. A wave of nausea and disgust surged within him as the face moved—its eyelids fluttering open. It was still alive.
"Captain!"
The face spoke, its voice trembling. "Mark and the others are controlled! You need to be careful—she is—"
"Tap, tap."
A pale finger, white and translucent like bone china, adorned with a blood-red rose ring, tapped twice against the forehead of the face—cutting it off mid-sentence.
"Exposing a lady's secrets is hardly the mark of a gentleman," the red-haired woman said softly. Her fingers caressed the forehead she had silenced, her voice carrying a strange, hypnotic charm. "Besides, shouldn't you tell your captain something more important?"
The urgency in the face's eyes vanished, replaced by a look of unbearable pain.
"Captain…"
His eyes twisted with agony, yet his mouth curled into a smile. "Allow me to introduce the great Lord—the True—"
"Bang!"
A gunshot shattered the suffocating silence. A bullet hole appeared at the center of the forehead, cutting the sentence short—and the suffering ended.
Edward stood there, his staff tucked beneath his broken arm, his other hand steady as it held a revolver still smoking at the muzzle. The grip creaked under the pressure of his fingers.
"Captain Edward, please calm down. She's doing this on purpose," Caesar warned, realizing only then how heavy his own breathing had become.
"I know."
Edward's reply was cold, his voice like ice.
He looked at the woman opposite him and asked slowly, "Are you Ms. M of the Aurora Order?"
"Yes," she replied with a serene smile. "That's me."
"Where are your subordinates?"
"They've already returned to the great embrace of the Lord—ahead of me."
"So you sacrificed them," Edward sneered. "And you say it like it's something glorious."
"You don't understand." Ms. M sighed softly. "We are all humble servants of the great Lord—"
"Thump!"
Before she could finish, Edward dropped his revolver. With his remaining right hand, he gripped the black Chaos Scepter and struck it against the floor. A sharp sound rang out, and the air around Ms. M began to distort. Her aura visibly weakened.
It was the scepter's distorting effect. Edward had seized upon her words—amplifying and twisting her declaration of being a "humble servant", turning it upon her. For a brief moment, the phrase became a reality, sapping her strength.
Ms. M lowered her head, sensing the change within herself. She didn't panic. Instead, she smiled faintly. "Very clever."
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The Nighthawks didn't waste their chance. The instant Ms. M's aura faltered, they opened fire in unison. More than a dozen demon-hunting bullets tore through the air, riddling her body with holes.
"Hissss…"
The bullets ripped into her white robe, painting it with blood. The mystical power within them restrained her flesh, suppressing her regenerative ability. Granulations squirmed beneath her skin, struggling in vain to heal the wounds.
She swayed under the storm of bullets, staggering—but she did not fall.
The effect isn't strong enough, Caesar realized, stopping to reload. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leon step forward, hatred burning in his eyes. The man raised an enormous revolver, crouched slightly, aimed—and fired.
"Boom!"
The gun roared like a cannon. Ms. M's arm snapped off like a dry branch, hanging only by a few sinews of flesh.
"Leon, keep firing! Everyone else, reload—quickly!" Edward ordered.
Finally, after enduring the onslaught for so long, Ms. M moved. During the brief pause in the barrage, she reached up, tore off her remaining arm, and hurled it toward them.
The severed arm swelled mid-air, pulsing violently—ready to explode at any second.